


A Case of Identity

by NineMagicks, Sourcherrymagiks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Books, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Admirer, Watford Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22136842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineMagicks/pseuds/NineMagicks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: It was a horrible mistake to leave a letter full ofFeelingsin the library.Who knew that Snow could evenread, let alone respond?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 278
Kudos: 715





	1. A History of British Magiks - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collaboration between Ninemagicks and Sourcherrymagiks.  
> The title is from a Sherlock Holmes short story by Arthur Conan Doyle.

**4.45pm, Monday.**   
**First Floor, Watford library, History section.  
Inside a copy of ‘A History of British Magiks’ by L. Stewart.**

**Addressed to: Simon**

Crowley, Simon, how am I supposed to sit here and work with you so very close? 

Why are you so infuriatingly beautiful, even though you’ve clearly lost another recent war against a hairbrush? 

I’ve spent so many hours watching you that I know each tilt of your head, each flick of your eye, every disastrous move just before you make it. I'd map the marks on your skin as constellations, if you'd let me. I know each piece of you better than I know myself.

I can tell you’re tired tonight. You’ve knocked your water bottle over three times in the last twenty minutes. Why, for the love of Merlin, did you only put the cap on after you did it the second time? You're an anomaly. A mystery. A bloody conundrum, in human form. I cannot believe that I could be so infatuated with a mildly sentient catastrophe such as you, and yet here we are. 

I'm worried about you, though. You are simply hopeless at sitting still when you need sleep. If you don’t rest we’re in for explosions in charms tomorrow, and I’m not sure I can stand tasting your magic all day. It’s as intoxicating and ridiculous as you are. I can’t help but wonder what’s keeping you awake at night, my love? What monsters could I slay to let you rest?

I suppose I could just set Gareth off by insulting Star Wars - that’s enough to make anyone lose their grip on consciousness. You'd sleep like the dead. But alas, that might be taking things a bit too far. 

This year has been harder than last. It’s becoming too difficult to watch you without my gaze lingering too long. How is it that however crowded a room gets, I can always find you? 

How can I always hear your heartbeat above everything else? I actually can’t hear it, in this moment. (No one can hear anything over Bunce snorting.) You must have said something hilarious because you're laughing right back. At this rate, you might well fall off your chair. 

I’d give anything to make you smile like that. To be the reason you smile.

As always, these thoughts must remain my own.  
All my love,


	2. A History of British Magiks - Part 2

**9:15am, Tuesday.**   
**First Floor, Watford library, History section.  
Inside a copy of ‘A History of British Magiks’ by L. Stewart.**

**Addressed to: Someone Who Thinks Their Fucking Funny**

Dear whoever you are,

I dunno what you think your up to leaving that letter inside a book. Maybe your playing a prank on me. I'm guessing it was written about me - I'm the only Simon who was in the library last night, the only Simon that Penny hangs out with.

How did you know I'd find it? It could've ended up anywhere. That's why I'm not sure it was serious. Could all be some sick joke or shitty social experiment. See if Snow actually reads. 

Anyway, just in case it was real, here's my reply.

1\. Yes I am tired. Thank you for noticing.  
2\. Bottle caps are tricky, alright?   
3\. Don't start Gareth on Star Wars, seriously, it never ends.  
4\. Penny does snort when she laughs but it's rude to point it out. Even I know that. She will hex you if she catches you.   
5\. Sorry I'm making a list and not writing sentences, I'm too tired.  
6\. I'm not beautiful and there's nothing wrong with my hair.

It's not fair that you watch me. I have no idea who you are. Do you watch other people? Do you leave notes for them too? Is this some sort of game? I know that level of boredom, mate. We've all been there. It doesn't have to be letters, you know – you could practise your magic, do some exercise. Might make you happier. (You seem pretty sad.)

Please answer all my questions in your next letter.  
If you don't reply I will be forced to use my detective skills and track you down.  
Obviously I am a brilliant magician and you should be very worried about that.

I'll give you one thing, mystery person. Your letter did make me smile. Lay off the stuff about heartbeats, though. That's proper creepy vampire territory, alright?

See you around. (Or not.)  
Bye. - is that how you end a letter?

Simon Snow.


	3. The Magic of Football: Player's Guide - Part 1

**3:12pm, Wednesday.**  
**First Floor, Watford library, Sport section.  
Inside a copy of ‘The Magic of Football: Player's Guide’ by K. Vinegar.**

**Addressed to: Simon, the brilliant magician**

Before I begin, we must first address the elementary errors in your earlier correspondence. You mention how tired you are, but I'm afraid I'll be the one kept up all night if you don't sort this out:

“You're playing a prank”, not YOUR.  
“They're fucking funny”, not THEIR.

You're welcome. Now, in response to your concerns, I can assure you that the contents of my letter were sincere, though I never intended for you to read it. Leaving it inside the book was a grave mistake on my part, though it does seem rather serendipitous that you, of all people, found it. Seeing your scruffy reply between the pages this morning was a great shock.

I will allow for a short break here, whilst you look up 'serendipitous' in a dictionary.

Got it? Good.

I cannot fully trust in your so-called 'detective skills' until you find and reply to this second letter, of course, which I have tucked inside a book about sport. Didn't you tell me yesterday to 'do some exercise'? Here I am, taking your advice.

“You seem pretty sad”. This is perhaps the most perceptive thing you've said to me, Simon, without even knowing who I am. Tell me, did you sleep well last night? Or did my mysterious letter cause too much confusion? I expect Bunce already knows all about it. You two can't go anywhere without being joined at the hip.

As for your other queries – Crowley, no, I do not watch other people. I did not leave that note for you, and no, I have not written to anybody else. Finally, I can assure you that this is no game. (…Or is it?)

You wish me not to mention your heartbeat, and so I will simply say that watching you in social science today, your face scrunched up in misery as you examined my letter, was one of the most wondrous moments of my entire life. Your beauty, in that moment, was overwhelming.

And after, when you thought you had written the wittiest response ever committed to paper, and you smiled...well, I've already said it, haven't I? I wished I could be the reason you smile like that. And now, in a devious way, I am. Isn't this marvellous?

Awaiting your response with impatience,  
Yours sincerely, (being the correct way to end a letter, Simon),


	4. The Magic of Football: Player's Guide - Part 2

**5.15pm, Wednesday.**   
**First Floor, Watford library, Sport section.  
Inside a copy of ‘The Magic of Football: Player's Guide’ by K. Vinegar.**

**Addressed to : Pedantic (probably vampire) knob**

Well, I bet you thought you had me good and proper there didn’t you? 

Now you will be forced to admit that I’m practically Sherlock Holmes and you are just the Watson in this set up. 

I’m glad you took my advice about sport but you understand that reading about something and doing it aren’t quite the same thing? But you do seem to have found time to watch me a lot. Again. I’m a bit confused over the why? It’s a bit creepy but also not bad.

I am going to ignore your comments about my spelling and write how I like. I hope it irritates the crap out of you. 

I’m guessing that ‘serendipitous’ just means lucky or fate or something. Can’t you just use people words? It’s much easier to understand. Either way it does seem like I was meant to find it doesn’t it? 

I am still not sleeping properly, thank you for asking. I’m not too worried about grammar though or confused about the letter. It was sort of comforting and annoying. But I’m mostly tired because I’ve just got a lot on my plate. 

So now I’ve won I think you should let me ask you more questions such as: 

Why were you writing that stuff down in the first place? 

Do I know you?

Is it a game and if so how do I beat you? 

Also what do I win? 

Can it be chocolate because Baz ate my last mint aero and its ages until I can get more? 

If you want to make me smile I guess you will have to find new and exciting ways to annoy me. I’m sure you’ll manage.

  
Yours detectively   
Simon


	5. Mrs Filkerton's Basic Baked Goods - Part 1

**10:30am, Thursday.**   
**First Floor, Watford library, Cooking section.  
Inside a copy of 'Mrs Filkerton's Basic Baked Goods' by M.M.M. Filkerton.**

**Addressed to: Simon, ace detective**

First of all, fuck no to the Watson idea. If you are to compare me to anyone, my dear Holmes, it will be Mycroft – the superior intellect in every way imaginable. Though he was a bit of a lazy glutton in the books, which might be more your style...how many roast potatoes did you shovel into your face at dinner yesterday? Ten? Eleven?

Sorry to derail you with thoughts of potatoes. You did say you have a lot on your plate. Is it possible you meant something else by that? Do you worry about anything beyond your next meal?

Seeing as you took umbrage with my clever 'leave it in a football book' idea – honestly, it was difficult to find a book you might bother to pick up, seeing as you're practically allergic to literature – I have left this one inside a cookery book, instead. At breakfast this morning I admired the way your tore apart your fourth scone like a starving hyena...so there's a chance a book about baked goods might tempt you.

Allow me to translate that last paragraph into 'people words' for you: Me hide letter in food book. Food good, yes? Snow like scones.

Clear enough?

In response to your inane questioning, I will say this: it is none of your business why I was writing things down. Perhaps because I cannot say them out loud and it becomes painful, after a while, keeping it inside. I don't know if it should bring me relief, knowing you still have my letters...or are you burning them? I'm keeping yours for archival purposes, you understand. If I ever need a reminder of your idiocy, I can find them under my pillow.

I'll tell you something true. This isn't a game. At least...it doesn't have to be. It's laughable that you think if it _were_ a game, you'd stand any chance of winning. And don't you ever tire of blaming everything on your roommate? What's he ever done to you? (Indulge me. I'm curious.)

I tell you what, if you manage to leave your reply in a creative place, I'll buy you a blasted mint Aero (good choice, by the way) and tuck it inside the cover of my favourite book. You ask if you know me, and I say no – not really, not yet – but if you have any interest in finding the chocolate bar, you'll have to get to know me rather quickly, won't you? I know you'd rather die than let food go to waste.

The game is afoot!

Yours in great pain at having overlooked your appalling grammar,


	6. Mrs Filkerton's Basic Baked Goods / Art Room 2b

**3:50pm, Thursday.**  
**First Floor, Watford library, Cooking section.  
Inside a copy of 'Mrs Filkerton's Basic Baked Goods' by M.M.M. Filkerton.**

**Addressed to: Watson**

Find the real reply in a more creative place. 

Yours artfully  
Si 

* * *

  
**4:00pm, Thursday.**  
**Art room 2b, stuck underneath the first desk on the left.**

**Addressed to: Watson (whether you like it or not)**

I’m not into the idea of you being Mycroft. I don’t like the idea of you scheming and lonely, seems a rough deal even if you are a prat. You can stay Watson. I’m feeling kind.

Continuing on with my kindness, mate, if you eat less than 10 roast potatoes at a sitting you are just mugging yourself. Everything about them is perfect. Ditto the scones. Did you know even Natasha Pitch wrote sonnets about those scones so turning your nose up at them is like defying what Watford stands for. You would probably be less obsessed with me if you spent more time at meals concentrating on what you eat rather than what I eat.

Are you impressed with my hiding place by the way?   
More creative - get it?   
I wish we still had art and creative classes here. I think headmistress Pitch was right about that too, but I’m not supposed to say those things. That’s mostly what’s on my plate. Not being allowed opinions and choices. But I’m sure I’ll sort it out in the end. 

I blame my roommate because it’s usually his fault. If he didn’t spend so much time plotting my downfall (or shoving me downstairs) he would probably find that I’m not that bad. Or maybe not, I guess we’ll never know. I would love to tell him everything I’ve written here about his mum but I think he’d probably spell me silent then set me on fire. It’s a bit of a shame.

If I’m trying to track down your favourite you need to give me clues (of course I’ll win, it’s what I do). 

I bet it’s summat dramatic and extra as fuck. I think that’s probably just like you with your mysterious love letters.

But I can’t just go through every dramatic book so give me three clues.

The game's indeed a foot.

Many carby wishes  
Si


	7. Art Room 2b

**11:25am, Friday.**   
**Art room 2b, stuck underneath the first desk on the right.**

**Addressed to: Simon Scone**

Ha, ha, ha – credit to you and your “creative hiding place”. I have, naturally, decided to place this reply under a different desk, purely because I enjoy the thought of you scrabbling around on all-fours, checking underneath each one until you find it.

I am a man of my word, and so your mint Aero is now safely inside a book in the library. I have, however, changed my mind about which book, as I think you knowing my favourite is a little too personal. I rather enjoy the fact that you don't know who I am, and I'd hate to give away my identity. It's inside a book that is more on your reading level, shall we say. Here are your clues:

1\. It contains hand-drawn illustrations.  
2\. There is an animal on the cover, wearing a blue hat and a red coat.  
3\. The aforementioned animal is from South America.

I do hope you rescue the chocolate before it's melted, or before a starving first year stumbles upon it, late one night. We've all been there, haven't we? Rumour has it you routinely crash about in the night, looking for food. At least now you have a noble quest to use as an excuse for waking your roommate up.

Speaking of your roommate...why do you say he would set you on fire? Perhaps it is hard for him to talk about his mother. Perhaps he would assume you were joking, or picking a fight, or trying to draw out information for the Mage. 

I am sure part of him would appreciate what you've said. He might even agree with you about the art classes. I am sure part of him would want to say thank you.

Not that I know anything about the two of you. I am merely the writer of mysterious love letters, after all. - Please note my immense sarcasm. These are NOT love letters. Nobody needs you to develop an even bigger ego.

It's nice that we can communicate like this. Isn't it better that you don't know who I am? If it's choices you want in life, I suppose I ought to reveal myself and let you decide if you want to reply...but I am selfish. I'm afraid that if you knew, you would never write again. I'm sorry I can't give you that choice. Not yet.

Until next time,  
Yours covered in crumbs that flew across the dining hall at me because you always chew with your mouth open,  
Mycroft Holmes (not Watson)


	8. A Bear Called Paddington

**5pm, Friday.**  
**Ground Floor, Watford Library, Modern Children’s Classics Section.**  
**Inside a copy of ‘A Bear Called Paddington’ by** **Michael Bond.**

**Addressed to: An Adorable Watson Bear**

Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing ever? I bet it is your favourite book really and you just wish you preferred some pretentious twaddle like Les Misérables. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone. I’m happy to take good care of you, you adorable bear. 

I am really chuffed with the chocolate so thank you. Why don’t you come and sit with me one mealtime and I’ll show you how good I am at making sure no crumbs escape my mouth. That would be a waste of good food.

Nice try on the deep denial about your letters. They are deffo love letters mate. When you drop a quick note to your pal it doesn’t often include details of their every meal, how beautiful they are or how you sleep with their letters under your pillow. 

It’s also pretty cute of you not to realise how utterly dirty it sounds when you write about me crawling around on all fours. That’s not really mate stuff either. Or nemesis stuff. 

You don’t have to back out of the love letter thing for me, I’m ok with them being love letters. I think I like it, even though I’d never really thought about blokes like that before. This is the bit where you can make a sarky comment about my ability to ‘think’ in your reply. It will help you not to think about what I just wrote. 

I want to tell my roommate everything I’m telling you but we’ve got a shaky truce going on at the moment and I’d rather not fuck it up. I like him not plotting to kill me. It’s nice.   
Also I’m bad with words so I’d end up sounding like a total tool. Then he would behead me and get expelled. 

You can keep hiding your identity if you want to, I might not be the top of the class but I’m smart enough to have worked out that you have a flair for the dramatic and there’s not much more dramatic than a secret correspondent. I’m happy to let you be you. And you have to decide: 

Is our game still a foot?   
What’s my next reward? 

Yours  
Sherlock Scones


	9. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Part 1

**9am, Saturday.**  
**Second Floor, Watford Library, Fiction section.**  
**Inside a copy of ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

**Addressed to: Simon “yeah mate deffo mate innit” Snow**

First of all, I would ask you not to speak ill of either Paddington or Victor Hugo, both of whom have contributed greatly to the literary canon. You may have your little jokes about my choice in literature all you like, though I would ask you to keep it to yourself. Please. (I’ll buy your silence with more chocolate?)

Secondly, do not leave me missives filled with nonsense words such as cute, adorable and sweet. You made me late for practice today because I was actually feeling things, reading your letter. How disgusting. It is fortunate for you I cannot blush, else I’d have to bludgeon you to death in the name of revenge.

Congratulations on finding the Aero before I gave up and claimed it for myself. I absolutely will not come and sit by you at dinner – if you think the rest of the student body don’t have to navigate a blast zone whilst eating in the same room as you, Snow, you’re living in cloud cuckoo land.

And if you’re so convinced these are love letters – which they are not - why are you still replying? Don’t get enough attention from your Damsel in Distress? (I refer to Wellbelove. Bunce is regrettably competent at rescuing herself, it seems.) Keep in mind that behind these letters could be somebody you’d hate. Perhaps it’s best if neither of us get too attached.

I am glad to hear your truce with your roommate is working. I’m sure it’s agreeable for all parties. You’re certainly more eloquent in writing than I’d anticipated – if you want to tell him something, have you tried writing it down?

Sorry for the ink smudges. I had something in my eye.

I can assure you the game is most certainly still afoot. – note that this is all one word, Snow – Crowley, has anyone ever introduced you to a dictionary?

As you are so intelligent – and not entirely lacking in dramatics yourself – here is a challenge for you. Tell me - what is the best flavour of crisps? Note that I ask for the best, and not your favourite. (I imagine you do not discriminate much between flavours.) If your answer is correct, you will find a packet tucked inside a textbook about the most important kind of magic.

Think about it, genius – What are the best crisps? What is the best magic?

I await the results of your critical thinking with baited breath and low expectations,  
Yours without being soppy about it,


	10. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes / Fire Magic

**11am, Saturday.**  
 **Second Floor, Watford Library, Fiction section**.  
 **Inside a copy of 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

  
**Addressed to: Professor of pointless grammar  
**

This might be the quickest one yet. Either my skills are increasing or you are slacking because of all your feelings.

Anyway, find my real reply filling the spot where the crisps were.

Yours snackily   
High speed Simon

* * *

  
**11.30am, Saturday.**  
 **Ground Floor, Watford Library, Reference section.**  
 **Inside a copy of 'Fire Magic and How to Use It** ' **by Montague Rupert Pitch.**

**Addressed to: Stinky crisp eater**

Thank you for the snack, I needed it to solve the whole of this puzzle so very quickly.

Just so you know I’m not with Agatha anymore or again. She was part of a path that a thought I should take but it isn’t good for us. We make better friends. So I’m free to enjoy your attention as much as I like. 

If I was to write to my roommate I guess I might get a bit braver than I have been to his face. I might tell him that sharing my magic with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I might let him know that I think about it all the time. I want to do it again.   
I think I want to do other things too.  
I want everything.

I also think (you can put your own sneery comment in here) that you know that I must know who you are by now. I think (second rude comment about my intelligence goes here) I’ve always known. 

So it’s really your choice. We can keep playing and telling each other how we feel without telling each other how we feel. I know you hate ‘feelings’ but you started it. 

Or you can be brave. Light a match.

Sit by me at dinner.

Yours recklessly  
A very nervous roommate


	11. Fire Magic and How to Use It

**4pm, Saturday.**   
**Ground Floor, Watford Library, Reference section.  
Inside a copy of ‘Fire Magic and How to Use It’ By Montague Rupert Pitch.**

**Addressed to: Crisp thief**

Your letter rendered me speechless.

I'm afraid I can't sit with you at dinner, as I have football training until late.

Please find the rest of my reply in the place you know best.

Yours in a great deal of pain,  
The least subtle person in existence, apparently,

* * *

**8pm, Saturday.**   
**Under Simon's pillow, top of the tower, Mummers House.**

**Addressed to: My roommate  
**

I hope that you enjoyed dinner. I trust you kept the majority of the meal inside your mouth, instead of inadvertently sharing it with the rest of the table.

I trust you also realise that littering these letters with insults has been a way of keeping my distance from you. Of making things easier. I think you do understand that, just as you have clearly seen through my ruse from the very beginning. Indeed, I am no Mycroft...I therefore humbly accept the title of Watson. (At least it means we're on the same side.)

What you wrote earlier...it means everything, in ways I can't explain. I would want my roommate to know that he _has_ been sharing his magic with me, in every letter he has written. The words have meant more to me than any spell or conjuring ever could.

No more tricks. No more insults. No more games.

You've won. You've undone me, Snow.

I will be out late tonight. (You know full well why but I refuse to write it down.) I'd hate to wake you upon my return...so, breakfast then?

You lit the match. This is me, blowing on the tinder.

In courage,  
In defence of the weak(-hearted),  
Baz


	12. Under the Pillow

**11pm, Saturday.**  
**Under Baz’s pillow, top of the tower, Mummers House.**

**Addressed to: A lovely idiot**

If you are reading this and not kissing me, you should ask yourself ‘why?’...

...then turn around. 

Yours sincerely,  
Simon


End file.
